La Tentazione di Carlisle
by Petals Open to the Moon
Summary: When a little bird is placed amongst wolves, there can be no doubt as to its survival. Indeed, Carlisle sometimes felt that the city of Volterra itself would devour him alive, leaving little hope of escape, and only fragments of his soul... Rated M for emotional trauma, sensuality, and some violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Oh, it has been such a long time since I've posted here. Unforgivably long. I have been writing off and on, but life has also been happening at the same time, along with computer trouble, relationships... all of that glorious nonsense we put up with. *_* But I hope you like this old story I posted a long time ago and never finished. It is precious to me, and I hope will meet your satisfaction.**

 **We begin with Carlisle Cullen, the dear doctor, when he was still a young vampire and residing with the Volturi in their home continent. This is my take on why exactly he chose to leave, and the grief he possibly suffered at their expense. And so we begin...**

 **\- Petals**

* * *

"Car-lisle! My darling, where _are_ you…?"

The young vampire groaned, pressing his forehead into his hands. When Aro had showed him the wondrous cavern of treasures that was the Volturi's library, he had assumed that he would then be left alone. Alone to study, and delve, and ponder. Perhaps even finish that dissertation on human anatomy that he had been driving at for so long.

"Where is my little _canarino?"_

Carlisle sighed in exasperation, pushing back his chair. It must have been with a little too much force, for the next moment, Aro appeared in the doorway, grinning ear-to-ear.

"Carlisle…" he scolded affectionately. "Why are you hiding by yourself? I will not have it said I neglect my guests."

"Truly, my friend, you have not neglected me." Carlisle smiled gently, his irritation fading somewhat. It was impossible to be upset around Aro when he inhabited this mood.

The ancient's eyes danced about, flickering from his friend's youthful visage to the stacks of books and papers scattered across the desk. "You have been working? On what, pray?"

Carlisle began to tell him, but Aro's attention had already flown elsewhere. "What a _handsome_ new suit, my friend. Did you purchase it recently?" He smirked.

Carlisle chuckled. "You know very well who bought this, Aro. It is your own fine taste I should thank."

"Tut, tut. One would think I'd be drunk on flattery, by now." His eyes sparkled with unsteady gaiety, and Carlisle wondered if that were not the very case. "But come! You must not idle away your time here. It is a beautiful night out, and I _refuse_ to waste it."

Carlisle sighed. "What is there outside that cannot be found in this room?"

Aro looked him up and down briefly, a gaze that made the aspiring doctor far from comfortable. His red tongue briefly darted out over his lips. "What, indeed? Come, my golden immortal. Come…"

The quill fell from Carlisle's fingertips back onto the desk, his work forgotten, for the present. He followed his friend out of the library and down a grandly-lit hallway. The library was close to the rooms of all three Ancient's, and all adjoining rooms and halls were decorated according to their professed royalty. However, Carlisle had noticed some differences in their respective private areas. Aro's, for instance, was tasteful yet lavish, as befitted his vanity. There were more mirrors leading up to his room and beyond than anywhere else in the castle. Tapestries and art covered almost every inch of stone wall, and the floors before his door were covered in the most beautiful of Persian rugs. Caius' echoed much of the same décor as Aro's. Their brother, Marcus', on the other hand, sang a far different song. Tapestries had been stripped off the walls. Paintings removed, carpets ripped from their clinging nails, and what torches remained sat cold and silent.

Carlisle had passed down that hallway before. He had not lingered. A strange heaviness dwelt there. It was difficult to breathe, as if some great, grey emotion hung unspoken in the freezing air.

He thought of this, as he walked with Aro. As they passed that same hallway, and Caius' beautiful studio of art. Aro glanced at his friend's somber face with curiosity.

"Are you well, dearest one?"

Carlisle nodded soundlessly. Aro's tongue struck gently against his teeth in a clucking sound, but he said nothing. He opened a door after several brief minutes, inviting his friend to enter through first.

The night air struck Carlisle's face with a soft, sweet warmth, surprising him. He turned around to see Aro beaming.

"Pleasant, is it not?" The vampire king gestured to a charming pathway in the _fortezza's_ gardens. "Please walk with me."

Carlisle followed, though he was not entirely at peace as he strolled with the older vampire. Thoughts of his dissertation buzzed in his head, refusing to allow him enjoyment of the night. As Aro spoke freely of other subjects, however, he found himself beginning to relax. Scents of the air around him flooded his nostrils. He breathed in deeply, his chest expanding.

Mm. Jasmine. Pinewood. The lush green of summer grass beneath his feet.

"So," he said tentatively, after a moment's silence from his companion. "I hear from Corin that you are married? I did not know this."

A brief flash of anger crossed Aro's face, so quick that Carlisle did not see it. "Ah, yes… Sulpicia. My darling wife. She keeps to her room, I'm afraid, but you may meet her in future, if you'd like."

"It would be a pleasure," Carlisle said warmly. A soft cry of a nightingale filled the silence for a moment, then he spoke again. "You must love her very much."

Aro's blood-filled eyes turned to his. "Yes?"

The ancient had stopped walking, so Carlisle did as well. "Forgive me if I pry, but… I assumed that one's bond with one's mate is the strongest known to our kind." His golden eyes looked reverent. "You can't be parted from her for long?"

Aro watched him unblinkingly. "You long for your own mate."

"Very much."

The dark-haired vampire smiled tenderly. "And you will find he—your mate. It only takes a little time."

"It feels so long, already," Carlisle said sadly. "I long to be close to another… the way you are with your wife."

Aro's lips spread back genially from his teeth. He studied Carlisle's handsome profile, turned as it was away from him, and let out a low, exaggerated sigh.

"Ah, yes, but she does not please the way I would wish her to." His lashed lifted slowly, his gaze on Carlisle. "As I wish _you_ to."

The blonde vampire turned his head, startled. "I… beg your pardon?"

"Pardon granted, sweet one." Aro's voice dropped an octave, soft and silken. His broad chest rose soft and fast beneath black velvet.

Carlisle hitched a breath. "I… I am afraid I don't understand."

"Allow me to enlighten you, then," Aro said, reaching his hands forward encouragingly. When the doctor drew back, he shrugged. "Ah. Words shall come first, I suppose. But they will not satisfy me for long."

"Aro, I am here by you and your brothers' good will. To study and learn," Carlisle rushed. "Not indulge in carnal pastimes."

"'Carnal pastimes'?" Aro laughed. "Oh, _cara mia,_ you amuse me so! You speak like an old _pastore._ "

"I mean what I say."

"As you do everything, friend. What I am suggesting…" And Aro steepled his fingers delicately. "Is that you _say_ a little less, and _experience_ a little more."

"Please let me return to my studies," Carlisle whispered.

"Not just yet. You shall not fly from me so soon, _canarino."_ Aro caressed the word tenderly with his tongue, his lips pursing briefly on the 'o.' He circled the young prodigy with a careless air, stopping just behind him. "Don't tell me you feel _nothing_ for me," he whispered close to his ear.

Carlisle jumped, stepping back as he turned. "My lord, I would ask leave of you. Now."

Aro's smile was too bright, too dazzling. "No, no… Come here. Hold my hand, little one," he gushed. "Press it close, and tell me you do not feel my dead heart beating again."

"Aro, you are not yourself."

"You think I am mad?"

"… Yes," Carlisle admitted.

"Clever boy." Aro laughed, flitting closer again with eyes that now held a naked hunger. "Come, my friend. Teach me more of these 'carnal pastimes…'"

"It is… not natural," the blonde one croaked out.

"Not natural?" Aro said lightly. "Are you forgetting, Carlisle? I am from Greece, and we both know the traditions of their fathers. One did not look down upon a man lusting after another."

Carlisle's voice sounded weak. Strained. "I am from… a different time."

Aro laughed richly. "Time is all One for us, _mio canarino._ I have ceased to let each century's laws govern me. Our kind follows its own laws."

"And I respect them, truly," Carlisle hated the pleading sound in his voice. "All I… all I ask is that you respect mine in turn."

Aro watched him, his eyes like drops of blood caught in starlight. "I like it when you ask me things," he whispered. "I like it very much."

The young vampire made a soft noise of despair, turning away from him. Aro reached out, eagerly seeking the pale hand that rested against a silken trouser leg. He clasped it tight when his potential lover resisted, using his superior power and strength to draw him close.

" _Listen to the night,"_ he breathed, his lips inches away. "Listen to her _sing_ to you…"

Carlisle's mouth was gaped, venom glistening on his tongue as he struggled. Aro thought how much he wanted to bite that tongue. Suck it into his mouth like a sweet candy, and listen to him moan. He smoothed back Carlisle's hair gently, feeling how soft it was.

"Stop struggling, Carlisle. You're making me nervous."

"Aro… for God's sake…"

"Leave Him out of this," Aro said irritably.

With a sudden surge of effort, Carlisle yanked himself out of the ancient's grasp, their bodies colliding together briefly. The sound was like two boulders being flung together, and it threw Carlisle off balance. He slammed into the dirt, flattening a poor jasmine blossom in the process.

Aro's exclamation was soft. "Dear friend! Let me help you…" He grinned at Carlisle's submissive position, bending to extend his hand. Carlisle hissed, shimmying backwards on his elbows. He looked so young and blonde and mussed, Aro couldn't help but purr aloud.

"Aro, I asked you…"

"And I listened, friend. Most politely. Do let me help you."

"Leave me be. _Please."_

"Only stop looking so alluring, Carlisle…" Aro crouched playfully, pouncing on his "prey" and pinning him effectively beneath him. Before Carlisle could register what had happened, he encircled the blonde vampire's face in his hands, bending low to capture a much-awaited kiss.

Carlisle lifted his leg, and kicked him in the stomach. Hard.

He heard a wheezing sound. Felt the ancient's body leave him, the choking relief of the strange attack _finally_ being over. Then he looked up into the ancient's fiery eyes, and knew he had treaded on dangerous ground.

A stunning blow whipped against his cheek, snapping his head to the side. It shocked him far more than it hurt. He looked up again in a daze to see Aro rubbing his hand regretfully, his eyes changed to a soft crimson.

"Forgive me," he said softly. He looked down at his friend, terrified and motionless in the dirt, and sighed. "Oh, Carlisle. Will you never learn to have a little fun?"

He turned, then, his cloak brushing Carlisle's cheek as he left.

"Come in when you're ready," his feathery voice flitted from a distance. "Heidi will be arriving shortly."

Carlisle sat up on his knees shakily. One fist was pressed to his mouth… why? To stifle a sob? To prevent himself from lashing out in a rage? Oh, but rage was not his way. No… his way was goodness and truth and light and… and…

Carlisle sank back to the ground, weeping as a soul violated.

" _ **I can feel the discomfort in your seat**_

 _ **And in your head, it's worse."**_

 _ **(Depeche Mode, "Halo")**_

* * *

 _ **canarino/mio canarino -**_ **canary/my canary**


	2. Chapter 2

He thought the worst had passed… or at least hoped. And for a time, he seemed right.

Aro left him alone. For three months, Carlisle was left to lick his wounds, smooth back his wounded pride, and devour with renewed hunger the pages upon which his future lay. He studied like a madman, occasionally asking to leave the _fortezza_ for items of research, but he never spoke to the Masters otherwise.

Perhaps it was best for Carlisle's peace of mind, but their attentions were held elsewhere. The early 18th century of Italy had been blessed with a wellspring of architecture, creative theatre, and the arts, much as their grandfathers had been blessed with _La Rinascita,_ the Renaissance, centuries earlier. The memory of _those_ rich times was still fresh Aro's mind, and he set about with welcoming the new artists with the exuberance so characteristic of him.

A masque ball, or _una palla masque,_ for all those who were invited. It would take place within a fortnight, and the castle was buzzing with preparation.

Carlisle had heard of this, but only from murmured whispers in the hallway. He left his desk one afternoon, interrupted by a crash outside the library window. He looked down into the courtyard at two footmen, arguing over a shattered Baroque statue between them. He chuckled in amusement, only remembering at the last minute that they would no doubt pay for their clumsiness with their lives.

He returned to his desk, sobered. _I only hope Aro does not expect me to attend this thing,_ he thought dismally. It had been an extended period since their last meeting, but the memory still burned fresh in Carlisle's mind. It was not a pleasant one.

 _I am not a hostage, however Aro twists things. I can choose to go, or I can choose to—_

The library doors opened, and his head jerked up. The little maid servant who had entered squeaked in surprise. "Oh! I-I am so sorry, _Signore!"_ she babbled in Italian. She backed away quickly, a vase of flowers teetering precariously in her rosy arms.

Carlisle rose, speaking kindly. "No, no! Please come in. You are no disturbance." His Italian was not perfect (as Caius took pains to constantly remind him of), but he made himself understood. The girl edged back into the room uneasily.

"Please," he said again gently. "Go about your work. Do not mind me."

She bobbed her head twice, and he went back to his study of John Hunter. Hunter was a new face in the medical community of Europe, and Carlisle thought a promising one. Progress was slow, however. There were still so many things no one knew. No one understood.

Thought of his father's witch hunts slipped into his mind. To distract himself, Carlisle leaned back, watching the girl arrange sweet-smelling tuberoses with lavender. Her fingers no longer shook with fear, and she handled the flowers with a sort of tender care that he found appealing.

"What is your name?" he asked softly.

She jumped. He caught a glimpse of wide, doe-brown eyes before she ducked her head. "A-Alissa… _Signore."_

"There's no need for formality." He stood, smiling with natural friendliness. "Call me Carlisle."

She stared at him, her mouth gaping a little. He frowned. "Is something wrong?"

"We don't…" She seemed to be recovering from a slight shock. She sucked in a trembling breath, and tried again. "We… we don't call you by first names."

"Me?" he asked, puzzled.

"N-not just you. _All_ of them. It is forbidden."

Carlisle blinked, his golden orbs shielded briefly by pale lids. "Ah… I see. Is that Aro's order?"

"The… the Master, yes," she stammered.

He chewed his lip, thinking. "Well… _I_ do not require such titles. Will you call me Carlisle? Please?"

"Carlisle?" she whispered.

"That's right." He smiled at her.

A moment passed, and her lips lifted hesitantly for him. "You… you have a strange accent, sir. If you don't mind my saying so."

" _Carlisle,"_ he reminded gently. He plucked a book from his desk, coming to stand near her. "And you are correct. I am not from this country."

She stepped back as he approached, which he noticed. "Where?" she whispered.

"England. Not too far from here."

Her awed expression told him that she had never met a foreigner before, much less left her own homeland. He slid the book easily into its rightful place. "And you? How did you come to be here?"

Tears filled her pretty eyes. "I'd rather not say… if it pleases you."

"If it pleases _you,_ then I shan't ask further," he said gently. Her tears distressed him. Did she have a family, as he had once? Where were they now? He found these questions tumbling into his mind, seemingly of their own accord.

"I am sorry," he whispered.

She shook her head. He watched her hands sweep stray leaves and twigs off the polished wood and into her apron pockets. With his superior sight, he could see every callous on her hands, every bruise and scabbed cut from constant labor.

"Would you…" He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Would you like to come here again sometime? Talk awhile with me?"

She looked up at the surreally handsome face, frightened. "I am not allowed to waste time."

"Is time with a friend such a waste?"

Her eyes gazed up at him in astonishment. "Am I your friend, _Signore?"_

"If you'd like, Alissa." He grinned. "I'm quite lonely, you see. I like to have someone to talk to."

"Me, too." She smiled, then jerked her head upward, staring at the grand clock above the doorway. She glanced back at him, opening her mouth as if to speak, then ran out of the room, closing the door quickly behind her.

Carlisle stood still, confused yet smiling broadly.

In the entire time he'd been speaking her, he had not thought of his troubles even once.

* * *

Blindingly sunny days led into balmy summer nights. The summer months had not been so punishing this year, and festivities stirred to life, not just in the surrounding villages, but in the fortress as well. Despite Carlisle's earlier disinclination to attend the Masque, he found himself growing more and more curious as that day approached. He was fortunate enough to not see Aro, although his giddy laughter was often heard throughout the fortress. He did not see Alissa, either. His shy little friend was kept busy, as were all the other servants. Many had been hired from neighboring villages to help out, although Carlisle doubted they would be returning.

Was Alissa one of those who had been hired? He doubted it, since she seemed to have an understanding of the rules of the Volturi already ingrained into her. But the thought still bothered him.

"Carlisle!"

He was in one of the many art rooms in the castle, one morning, when the sharp voice of Heidi accosted him. He turned around to greet her. She sauntered up to him with her usual hauteur, the heels on her buckled shoes red and gleaming in the light. She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, and she knew it.

"Why are you always by yourself?" she asked, her voice overly sweet. "Need a little company?"

"Not at the moment, no." The blonde vampire struggled to keep his eyes focused on her face. "Are you excited for the upcoming event?"

"Oh, yes." She grinned dazzlingly. "I have a darling outfit already picked out. Have you?"

"I…" He chuckled, shoving his hands shyly into his pockets. "I supposed there was a dress code, but I have not looked into it."

"You should. You were invited."

"I haven't heard from Aro."

"I said nothing about Aro. _I_ am inviting you."

Carlisle looked at her in surprise. "Why?"

"Because you are a delicious young man, my dear, and I wish to have you for my very own." She soaked in his shocked expression for a moment, then burst into soft laughter. "Oh, come now, Carlisle! You know I don't mean it."

"I… I don't know. Actually." If he'd been human, his cheeks would have been crimson. He turned from her. "And I do not appreciate jokes of that nature."

Her painted lips twisted in an ugly smile. "Don't be absurd, Carlisle."

He sighed. "I'll come, if you wish."

She perked up again. _"Perfetto!"_

"Is there a particular dress for the occasion?"

"Black, white, and gold. Or all three, if you prefer."

Carlisle smiled to himself. "Why do I get the feeling _you_ have chosen all three?"

She laughed, missing the slight jab at her vanity. "You are delightful, darling." She squeezed his arm gently, biding him adieu. "Don't forget!"

"How could I?" he murmured. Even if he stood up her invitation, the music (and no doubt debauchery) would eliminate the possibility of studying. Maybe he should go search out that outfit, after all. As he walked, even he had to admit he was excited.

 _You work too hard, old man._ He smiled to himself. _Best to have a little amusement._

He was soon to find that an outfit had already been ordered, courtesy of an unknown, and sent in beautifully-wrapped cloth to his chambers. He gazed down at the three piece suit on the bed, fingering the cloth in silent awe. Though he was accustomed to the grandeur of the Volturi's ways, and the lavish dress they preferred, his sensitivity for beautiful things led him to feel pleasure at having received such a gift.

White and gold were the colors, with only a little black on the buckled shoes and a black silk ribbon for the fashionable queue. Although the custom in that century was to favor a pomaded wig, Aro and Caius had dismissed this rather contemptuously.

"As if we needed to cover up our scent or hair, like some stinking _human,"_ Carlisle had once heard Caius snarl. "These damn wigs are infested with fleas and God knows what other vermin!"

"I confess, I rather like them, though," Aro chuckled in return. "Oo! And would a beauty mark or two offend you, brother?"

"Oh, Aro, do shut up."

Carlisle grinned at the memory, then sighed. He hoped Aro would not be too rambunctious tomorrow night. He longed for the earlier days of their friendship, when he felt like he could truly trust him. He was beginning to realize the folly of believing that, but did it hurt to hope?

Tomorrow night came. He dressed in the quiet of his chambers, his mind clogged with remnants of that day's study. Pages and pages of anatomical drawings. More questions. How did the heart work? And was it connected somehow with the thoughts of the brain? Was the soul contained _inside_ the heart, as the philosophers of old spoke of? How did that even make sense, anyway? He had always imagined the soul to be an airy thing, perhaps even indistinguishable to the eye…

He stood before a full-length mirror, examining himself critically. It was a stunning white and gold ensemble, the coat falling to the knees and opening up to display the gilt waistcoat. The collar was high, but could be loosened if there was discomfort. A lace jabot spilled from the collar, fastened by a fine gold pin. The gold breeches fit well on his slender, muscled body, as did the cream-colored tights encasing his legs beneath the knee. His blonde hair was slightly longer than his shoulders, tied in the proper fashion.

The colors set his beautiful eyes alight. Gave him a look of wisdom contrasted with tempting innocence. Any woman would have had him, but he did not believe this. If he even knew it.

Carlisle was in no denial about the beauty that came with immortality, but the angst of his previous life had not ceased to torment him. He had always been self-conscious about how he looked. His father had been no help, either. He had once whipped his son harshly for bringing home a blacksmith's daughter at age fourteen, wanting her to meet his mother.

"Have you gone daft?" he'd snapped, striking his son across the face. "You will marry a woman of some stance in this _miserable_ town, or I shall be damned!"

"We are not wealthy, Father," Carlisle had cried out, in a rare display of temper. "Why do you persist in the myth that we are?"

The memory stung, much as the blows that had followed afterward. Carlisle leaned his head against the mirror, closing his eyes. His face may be beautiful to some, but it was the face of a demon. And until he could learn to love it… well, what was the point of asking others to?

The music that started up, some distance away, roused him. He straightened, heading towards the open door. To his surprise, he heard the warm thud of a heart approaching. Alissa came to stand in the doorway, pausing with a blush when she saw him waiting.

"I… I thought you'd want some company," she said shyly. "You've looked… sad… lately."

"Have I? I am sorry." He noted, with sudden pleasure, that she had taken time to braid her unruly curls, winding the dark ropes about her head with care. Her apron was absent, and the fabric of her dress was clean.

"Ready, _Signore?"_ she asked softly.

He smiled, extending his hand to her. "You look very pretty tonight."

" _Grazie, Signore."_

He sighed. "Is my name offensive, Alissa?"

She flushed, startled. "No!"

"Then why do you never use it?"

She took a breath, looking both ways down the corridor before looking back at him. "Carlisle."

He smiled, bending to kiss her little fingers gallantly. He loved the way she trembled, her innocence striking a chord in his gentle heart. "Take me to the ball room?"

She giggled. "Yes… of course."

"Is my accent getting better?"

"Oh, yes!"

They walked down the hallway together, Alissa trying to silence her laughter as he told her an amusing anecdote. When they reached the great doorway, her hand slipped from his, falling back at her side. Carlisle could hear the music, swelling and falling in seductive heartbeats. Calling to him to enter. He turned his head, looking back at his little escort. Alissa looked sad.

"Do you like to dance?" he asked her.

"Very much, sir."

"Would you like it if, after the ball, I come dance with you?"

Her cheeks filled with blood, causing his throat to ache pleasantly. "Where?"

"In the library. Just the two of us… if you'd like," he added, not wanting to pressure her.

She smiled at him, cinnamon-colored freckles dancing across her round cheeks. "I'd love it."

* * *

" _ **Protect me from what I want…"**_

 _ **(Placebo)**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you for the reviews, my dears!**

 **\- Petals**

* * *

"Carlisle! My dear, _dear_ friend!"

Aro's enthusiasm bubbled over as he took Carlisle's hand in the crowded ballroom, his pale fingers covered in rings. He had a peculiar habit of greeting friends each time as if it was the first, always with the same laughter and capricious smile.

Carlisle was used to it, however, and squeezed his hand reluctantly. "Aro, you know that I disdain this type of greeting."

"You do? Why?"

"You know very well why."

Aro pouted. _"Cara mia,_ it is only polite. You know as well as I that if I could do away with this _irksome_ gift of mine, I would do so in a heartbeat!"

Carlisle said nothing, grateful for the white mask covering the majority of his face. He glanced briefly at Aro's extravagant costume: hundreds of tiny jewels sewn into the cloth that caught the light when he moved. His crest caught it, as well, the ruby stone in the center looking larger than usual against the pure black ensemble. His raven hair was pulled back with scarlet ribbon, the only other color besides the jewelry the Master wore.

Carlisle looked up to see Aro watching him. "You're looking well, Aro. Am I to thank you for the suit of clothes left on my bed?"

"Yes." Aro beamed happily. "Do you like it?"

"It is… quite handsome. But why are you not wearing a mask?"

Aro waved his hand to the side. "No need, although I've donned one in previous years. Everyone knows who I am." He turned counter-clockwise suddenly, his eyes lighting up. "Ah!"

A young man was walking towards them, dressed in black like Aro, and also unmasked. His ruddy cheeks betrayed his mortality. Aro went to greet him, his eyes lit up with an expression that Carlisle knew well. Such fanatical affection had, after all, been directed towards _him_ not three months ago. He adjusted the jabot of his collar anxiously, wondering if Aro's attentions had, indeed, shifted. He was not willing to go through that again.

"Carlisle!" Aro was steering his companion towards the doctor. "You _must_ meet my friend, Rodolfo Gudicelli. A pupil of the painter Francesco Solimena, whose work we are featuring this evening in our little gathering."

Rodolfo, a thin, yet strikingly handsome youth, reached out to grasp Carlisle's hand gently. He was just about Aro's height, yet his wild brown curls added several inches. His eyes were large and brown, like melted amber, and when he spoke, his voice was as sweet as a choir boy's.

"It is such a pleasure to meet you, _dottore,"_ he praised. "Aro speaks of you quite often."

Carlisle smiled back, unable to help it. "Perhaps he would do better to speak of you and your work. I am sure it is beautiful."

The young man blushed. "You have heard of me?"

"I have heard of your master. He has shown great talent in his studies of Grecian art." Carlisle released Rodolfo's hand, shuddering a little. The boy's flesh was clammy and cold.

Aro rested an arm languidly over Rodolfo's shoulder, unperturbed. "He likes to confine his work to the studio, the dear," he chimed in. "And when in the throes of his artistic Muse, even _I_ am not allowed entry to see him!"

"That is not true, Aro," Rodolfo protested, laughing.

"It is so, you naughty rogue." Aro kissed his messy curls affectionately. "Of course, when _not_ painting, he finds interest in other areas, as well. Medicine, for instance."

Carlisle glanced between them. "Indeed?"

"Oh, yes!" Rodolfo's eyes lit. "And I was wondering… _dottore…_ if I could steal a few moments of your time? Not _now,_ of course, but… some other evening, perhaps? Before I return to Venice, and my master."

Carlisle had been watching the young man closely as he spoke, and a pang of sadness now crept into his heart. He recalled the clammy touch of his hand, the way the fragile blue veins stood out on his skeletal fingers. The boy was vainly trying to hide the shivering in his costume, a costume that barely hid the thinness of his frame. His eyes were beautiful, and eager for information, but they were sunken. Bruise like shadows lined underneath, more copiously than even the vampires that surrounded him, and their color was fever-bright.

He would not survive the journey back to Venice. Of that, Carlisle was certain.

"Would you, please?" Rodolfo was waiting, eager.

Carlisle smiled with effort. "I would be delighted. But you and Aro both flatter me. I am not yet a licensed doctor, nor do I claim to be an expert of any kind in this field. The human body is so very complex. It would take one centuries to understand it all."

"Centuries which you have, of course," Rodolfo said softly.

Carlisle nodded. "Yes. I have… eternity."

Rodolfo frowned, the pretty dimple in his cheek disappearing. "You say it so sadly, as if you wished it were not so."

Carlisle hesitated to reply. He sensed Aro's presence leave them, as he went to greet other guests. It gave him the courage to speak some of his mind, as he had not spoken it to another living soul since his change.

"I… have a great deal of anxiety, sometimes. Immortality does not make you immune to fear, my friend."

"But you have no sickness, _no pain…"_ Rodolfo slipped an arm through Carlisle's engagingly, and Carlisle did not mind. They walked towards the edge of the room, away from the glittering ensemble. Carlisle looked down at the table of refreshments, noting the lack of human fare. He frowned.

"I'll take some of that," Rodolfo said suddenly. To Carlisle's astonishment, he reached past him, plucking a crystal glass of heavy, dark liquid from the elegantly-adorned table. He lifted it at once to his lips, taking a healthy gulp and swallowing.

"Signore Gudicelli," Carlisle said sternly, recovering from his shock. "What do you think you are doing?"

"What? It helps." Rodolfo plucked a handkerchief from his sleeve, dabbing carefully at his now crimson lips.

"You can attest to this yourself?"

"Aro told me it would help," the young man retorted, somewhat crossly. "It is vile, of course, but I have no other choice."

"Rodolfo…" Carlisle touched his hand gently. "You can trust me."

"Why do you say this?" The boy looked increasingly distressed. The first flare of color in his cheeks from the blood had already faded, causing the flesh to look pasty and dull once more. "Aro would not lead me astray. Even though he knows that I… that I am…"

 _That you are dying,_ Carlisle thought silently. His heart ached with compassion for this young man… not much more than a boy, really. More than ever before, he felt beyond frustrated at this century's lack of medical insight. This slow death had no cure. He had seen it before. Who knew how many more decades would pass before Europe was rid of it forever?

"I can give you a draught," he said softly. "It will not turn back time, but it will help the pain in your chest."

"How did you know of the pain?"

"It does not take an immortal to see it, Signore. Do you still wish to meet some time? I could give it to you then."

"Yes, please. You know not how this conversation has enlivened me." He grasped Carlisle's hand, his amber eyes imploring. "Will you do a favor for me?"

Carlisle felt the shaking from that fragile hand, the smell of his heart pumping feverishly. "… Of course."

"I have been begging Aro for months for this, but alas, he has consistently evaded an answer. I wish… to be immortal."

Carlisle sucked in a soft breath.

"Would you plead on my behalf?"

And damn the boy, as well? "Rodolfo, that is a decision between you and he. I cannot interfere."

Rodolfo's face fell. "You will not help me?"

"I promised you I would, but not in _that_ capacity."

Rodolfo released his hand, stepping back slightly. "Is it because you hate it?" he asked quietly.

"Hate it?"

"Your immortal body. The habits you have had to assume."

Carlisle's eyes flickered behind the white mask as he hesitated. He looked up, seeing Aro staring intensely at the two of them. "That is a question for another day. Please forgive my abruptness, but I must retire."

He turned away, ignoring Rodolfo's soft protests to stay. He lifted a chair effortlessly from a corner table, bringing it to rest near the young man, should his weakness overtake him. This duty done, he strode across the room, desperately trying to make his way through the crowd before Aro could note his absence. He flung open the doors to the great hall, striding through them without looking back.

"Blasted thing," he muttered, tearing the mask from his face. The ribbons caught on one of the gleaming buttons on his waistcoat, causing him to curse again lowly. He lowered his gaze to unwind the flimsy things, not noting the soft shadow that was creeping up behind him.

"Are you lost?" breathed a voice.

The flustered vampire straightened, the mask crumpled in one hand as he gazed down an empty hallway. He did not recognize the voice, nor did he see anyone. Had he taken leave of his senses?

"I'm right here." There was a soft giggle, and he whirled again, just in time to see a flash of gold skirt, and a twirling heel. He tried to follow it with his eyes, no doubt looking the perfect fool. He felt much like a little child trying to catch a light's reflection upon a wall, only to have it evade his grasp every time.

"Who are you?" he cried out.

The tiny clicking of heels was heard, and a young female vampire materialized out of the shadows. "No need to despair, _sciocco,"_ she purred gently. "You are a little slow, is all."

Carlisle stared, his mask falling unnoticed from his fingers. Immortal, perfumed, and exquisitely dressed. Her mask was similar to the one he had worn, only black as night. He relaxed a little bit. Not tall enough to be Heidi. Too regal in appearance to be one of the sullen female Guard. He cautiously bowed to her.

"I am sorry. I don't believe I've had the honor?"

"You are Carlisle, are you not?"

Carlisle blinked, not at the abrupt question, but at the voice. Like a breath of fresh, sweet air. He leaned awkwardly to one side, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands. "Yes," he choked somewhat. "What is your name?"

"Diana. I watched you leave. Are you unwell?"

He smiled faintly. "Not physically."

"Of course. _That_ is a misfortune only bestowed upon lesser mortals." She said this with the utmost sweetness, snapping her fan open. She peered at him coyly over the shimmering pleats, eyes dancing beneath her mask. "Why not come back to the ballroom? I am sure you make a fine dancer. _Vedrai."_

"I cannot."

"Why?"

Gods, why was he _refusing?_ She was lovely, certainly, but he couldn't stand to be near Aro. Not for awhile, at least. Looking at his grinning face would only remind him of Rodolfo's withering body and grasping hands. He fumbled for an excuse, his expression lighting up suddenly.

 _Alissa._

The little servant girl. He had promised her a dance, had he not? No doubt she was in the library at this very moment, waiting for him. How could he be so thoughtless? "I must beg your pardon, my lady, but there is someone waiting for me."

"Who?" Diana tilted her head curiously.

He told her Alissa's name, but nothing else. He was not good at lying, however, for Diana let out a soft, merry little laugh.

"Alissa? The servant? Oh, my dear, _dear_ boy. She is fast asleep in her bed, as are all the servants who helped this night. They are exhausted, and so is she."

He frowned. "I was certain…"

"It is no great misfortune. Come. You must dance with me here, if you will not go back to the ballroom." She snapped her fan shut, walking towards him with outstretched hands.

Carlisle felt at a loss. If she was already asleep… "I… am not a good dancer," he said weakly.

"Neither am I. Let us stumble together!"

She laughed, and after some coaxing on her part, so did he. She clasped his hands as if they were children, swinging their arms gently before executing a series of steps.

"Now for the _contredanse francaise_. One, two, three, four… oh, Carlisle, don't dawdle so! One, two, three… now you are diverting me on purpose!"

He smirked. "How can I help it? You're making me laugh."

"And well I should. You look unbearably handsome when you smile."

He looked shy, then. All thoughts of Alissa were forgotten. "I do?"

"Yes." She helped him through a step before adding, "Don't you believe me?"

"I am not accustomed to flattery," he admitted. "Before I came to live with the Volturi, that is."

"Ah. Do they flatter you awfully?"

"I would prefer not to speak of it."

The music ended in the distance, but she kept a gentle yet firm hold on his hands. "I am sorry," she whispered softly.

"It's not your fault," he whispered back. He could not see the upper part of her face, but the curve of her coral lips was causing him to feel sensations he had not felt in a long, long time.

"What are you thinking?" she breathed.

"I… I am thinking of how beautiful you are. A-and… I am thinking…" He struggled to concentrate, her breath on his cheek distracting.

"Yes?" she coaxed, smiling.

"… that I want to kiss you. Right now."

Her eyes widened, and Carlisle panicked inwardly. Gods above, he had ruined everything. Gone too far, in his excitement. He wished the floor would open up, taking him quickly and mercifully into its stone depths.

Diana was silent, for a moment, unknowingly prolonging his anxiety. Then the perfect lips beneath the mask curved again slowly.

"Do you wish to kiss me, Carlisle?"

"Please… I should not have suggested such a thing to a lady."

"I would rather _you_ ask me than anyone else."

"I…" His dark lashes swept bashfully over amber orbs. "… would you consent, if I did?"

Diana grinned. She stepped close to him, the many folds of her gown rustling, and paused for an agonizing moment before pressing her mouth warmly to his.

Carlisle closed his eyes. Honeyed pomegranate. Satin, silk, and the sweet yet tangy scent of newly imbibed blood. He was reeling.

Diana settled back onto the heels of her tiny feet, having had to tiptoe to make up the difference in their heights. "Does that answer your question?" she asked softly.

He nodded dumbly, unable to move. He felt her hands squeeze his once, then tug gently for him to follow. He did so without question or resistance, not knowing nor caring where she led.

Tonight, after what had seemed an eternity of nights, he would not be alone.

" _ **I felt like an animal, and animals don't know sin, do they?"**_

 _ **(Jess C. Scott, "Wicked Lovely")**_

* * *

 _ **cara mia -**_ **my darling, my dear**

 _ **dottore -**_ **doctor**

 ** _sciocco -_ silly  
**

 _ **vedrai -**_ **you will see**

 _ **contredanse francaise -**_ **"French counterpart" dances, popular in the 17th-19th centuries in Europe. Four couples were arranged on the sides of a square dances in pairs of four or eight, alternating hands with each other until the finish of the musical reel.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Who are you?" he whispered.

They lay together beneath a canopy of gold, the first weak rays of the morning staining the curtains pink and blue. The doctor's solid, muscled arm held her close, her slender legs curled over his. White against flawless white.

"I have given you my name," Diana responded gently.

"Yes… but who _are_ you? A visitor? A friend of the Masters?"

"Merely a visitor."

"For how long?" A feeling of unease verging on desperation filled his heart.

Diana snuggled up to him, kissing the noble line of his chin. "Don't fret, _sciocco._ I am not going anywhere."

He hugged his arms tighter around her beautiful body, exhaling. Thoughts and images from the previous night filled his mind, both embarrassing and thrilling him with their intensity. He kissed the smooth marble of the forehead beneath his, letting the memories linger in his body, reawakening the pleasure.

He remembered the way she'd looked at him, when they had entered his chambers, and the door was shut securely behind her. As if he were something beyond mortal man—not just in body, but in mind.

And all his imperfections? His doubts?

She pretended they'd never existed.

" _Mon Dieu," she whispered softly._

 _Carlisle looked up at her anxiously through his lashes. "Did… did I do something wrong?"_

" _Oh, no." She rose to a sitting position on his bed, her hands over her heart and her eyes lit with a greedy fire. "My darling… you are a god."_

 _Carlisle closed his eyes, but not before she saw the pain behind gold-fringed lashes. "Please… please don't call me that."_

" _Why ever not?" She laughed. " You are."_

" _No… Diana, I'm not what they all think I am."_

" _And what do they think you are?"_

" _Some sort of saint, or a… a god, as you said. Diana, I am no more a god than you are a wild beast."_

 _She smirked. "Oh, but I can be wild, too, cara mia." She saw the pain in his face again, then, quieting her forthcoming laughter. She came close to him. Her tiny hands slid over his shoulders, caressing them gently with soft squeezes. "Oh, Carlisle. I did not say it to hurt you."_

 _He hung his head, venom pricking his eyes._

" _Won't you look at me? I truly did not mean any harm."_

" _I know," he whispered, letting her touch and feel him. He had never felt so vulnerable before. "I just… I still feel like a man, sometimes. Weak. Can we pretend that that's all it is for tonight? Just a man and a woman?"_

" _You mean… human?"_

" _Yes. Please."_

 _She smiled at his plea, turning her head to kiss his throat. "If we were human," she breathed. "Your heart would be pounding under my lips. Would it not?"_

" _Yes," he breathed._

" _And if we were human," she continued, slipping the buttons of his waistcoat from their holes slowly. "This fabric would not tear the way I want it to. No. I would have to take my time…" She removed his golden vest, purring. "… second by second, ever so slowly…"_

 _She tugged the jabot from his throat, her lips falling right there, on the gentle bob of his Adam's apple. Carlisle gasped frantically for breath, the animal blood he'd consumed swimming dizzily in his veins. She set him on fire. She made his hands tremble by his sides in clenched fists, as if waiting for some electric shock to spark them to life so he could touch her. Kiss her._

" _Well?" she whispered._

 _He opened his eyes, lying bare from the waist up, his hair soft and free over his shoulders. She had removed her mask for him, and he thought the world had stopped moving, in that moment._

 _He groaned. "You're so beautiful."_

 _She took his trembling hands, setting one on either side of her full hips, her milky thighs pressed against his legs where she straddled him. "It is not a sin to touch beauty," she said to him, almost tenderly. "And you deserve it more than anyone else I know."_

Diana stirred beneath him with a little purr. It was the third time she'd made such a sound, and it delighted him beyond words. Carlisle chuckled, then blinked back the tears that again threatened. She had ignored him, when he dared speak of his sins. Had swiftly dismissed any mention of his father, and of the scalding words that he had sunk so deeply into his large, tender heart.

Why? Did she… He took a soft breath, and Diana gazed up at him with large, questioning eyes. Did she love him? Surely not. And yet…

" _There is no sin," she told him. He gaped up at her, shocked by such blasphemy. "And you are sinless," she continued. "We are perfect as we are. You have neither master nor father to tell you what to do._ Enjoy _life, sciocco. Embrace it, as it waits to embrace you."_

" _And Aro?" he whispered. He was remembering the hot, shameful sin of the Master's kiss. "Does he not decide our fates?"_

 _She looked irritated at mention of the Masters. "Never mind those old fools. They care not what you do, so long as you obey their laws."_

 _Carlisle stared, shocked by this blatant disrespect, but she was distracting him again. She crawled up his chest, glistening canines bared in a blinding smile. She unpinned her raven tresses, thick and soft as velvet, and smiled as he gazed upon her naked flesh._

" _Come," she sang._

 _Carlisle hung his head, inflamed, yet mortified. "I… Diana, I…"_

" _Oh, dear." Her fingers sought his. "You are a virgin?"_

 _Words could not describe his embarrassment. "Are… are you?"_

" _No, but it does not matter." She tucked the trembling hands she held, smoothing them in a soft, calming way. "Won't you look at me, dearest?"_

 _Carlisle lifted his head. She nuzzled her nose gently against his. "Come now. You need this, carissimo, and I am flattered to have an angel like you beside me. No, no… I am not angry. Come…"_

 _He sucked in a sharp breath, feeling her soft body press fully into his. She licked at his lips, coaxing him to let her in. He could not resist her. Her movements were practiced, languorous. By the time she entered his mouth, her little tongue twining with his, he was trembling again. Trembling with desire, not fear._

" _No sin," she whispered into his mouth, and the words tasted like honey. "We are above it."_

Diana looked up at Carlisle's still face, feeling a part of him swell beneath her. She giggled, grinning up at his half-closed eyes, the soft lips that parted in silent pleasure.

 _Come adorabile,_ she thought. It had been more pleasurable than she thought to guide him. Teach him the ways of love that he had never known.

"Again?" he whispered hopefully.

She laughed. "Again."

* * *

And yet, there were things that puzzled him. Often, after a night of tenderness and passion, he would wake from a meditative state to find her slipping off of his bed, her hands reaching for her dress. At his questions, she merely brushed petal-soft lips over his cheek, telling him he would see her again soon.

"Time is of the essence, dearest," she would say, eyes sparkling. "And I intend to use _all_ of my eternal years wisely."

What she meant, he could not decipher. He merely lay back, sighing.

However, these sudden absences also meant that he had time to focus on his work. His dissertation had diverted off into the heart and the brain, and he was finding it difficult to stay on one topic only. There were so many things left unlearned. So much richness left to be discovered. He felt strongly, for the first time, the true benefit of living as an immortal. The diet itself could be contained (however the Masters made jest of him), but Time! He would never have a limited amount of time! The thought thrilled and goaded him on to new pursuits, and the study he inhabited in the castle was daily infiltrated by new specimens for dissection. He even found the courage to ask Master Caius, who was often in a foul mood, for some finer tools for the more detailed work.

He caught him in a better mood, thankfully. Heidi had recently brought several sickly citizens from Venice, and his chambers in the dungeons were ready and waiting.

"These are old, so I mind not if you damage them," Caius said brusquely, handing a leather case of delicate knives, scalpels and such to Carlisle. "You may keep them, actually."

"Thank you," Carlisle beamed.

Caius watched him turn to hurry off with his spoils, one brow lifted sardonically. "Why don't you come down to my little lair, _dottore?"_ he invited. "Some of the amusements I have planned are right in line with your little… surgery projects."

Carlisle mumbled an apology, wasting no time to return back to his room. Caius' laughter, and the screams that followed later that night, haunted him for days afterward.

But not all of his thoughts were on his work, or even Diana. He also thought of Rodolfo. He wondered where the young man was, and what he was doing. He had see neither head nor tail of Aro since the masque ball, and Rodolfo had neglected to show for their scheduled meeting.

Carlisle hoped that death was not the reason.

That evening, after Diana had left in the morning (again, suddenly), he was surprised to receive a visit from her. She never entered his study, and if he were there when she came to visit, it was only to knock until he came out, then they went elsewhere. She had commented on her distaste for "gutter trash," which was her term for the rats and dead cats he occasionally experimented on.

" _Angela,"_ he said tenderly, rising. His Italian was growing better every day, thanks in part to her tutelage. She taught him not to sound so stilted and scholarly in her native tongue, along with popular slang and terms of endearment.

She hugged his waist, snuggling intimately close before kissing him. "Ugh… you smell of ink!"

"I am sorry." He was shy, knowing how messy his workspace looked at that particular moment. "But there are no rats today to upset your pretty little nose."

She giggled. _"Grazie_ for that, my darling. What are you doing now?"

"I have got the sketches I needed of the stomach cavity, but I need some time to finesse them and label before making more."

"Mm," she said.

"Come and watch me? I won't be long, then we can go outside in the gardens."

"You funny boy," Diana laughed as he sat, her fingers playing with his hair. "Are we going to make love in the daisies?"

"Nay! The roses, of course."

"Won't the thorns prick my skin?" she teased.

He grinned, stealing another kiss. "We will do _far_ more damage to them, I think."

She laughed again, and he soaked in the sound. His ink-stained fingers spread out two separate drawings before he reached again for the quill. He soon settled back into his work, only half-conscious of her hands in his hair.

She leaned over him, her pointed chin digging into his shoulder. "And how does the belly of a cat or rat compare with that of a human's?"

"It's actually much simpler than I thought," he responded gaily. "Their internal organs and structure can be likened to a human's in many ways."

"Have you seen the interior of a human?"

"Well… no. But I have these drawings from my predecessor's, and hopefully I shall soon acquire enough expertise to join them in their studies and dissections."

"Mm," she said again. Her eyes scanned the pages lazily, although a sharp edge was hidden in their ruby depths. "… Why?" she asked suddenly, after several long minutes.

"Why what?"

"Why do you linger on these pages, day after day?"

He glanced up at her, surprised. "It is my calling, Diana. What I was meant to do."

"Your calling? Who told you this?"

"No one. _I_ have chosen it."

"But why?" He detected a hint of irritation in her voice. "The human body is no mystery, Carlisle. They are born, they breed, they die. They are _our_ livelihood."

He continued to gaze up at her, his lips parting slowly. Disappointment coursed bitterly through him. He had thought she understood. "You sound just like Aro and Caius. But I cannot believe that."

She grasped the finely-carved armrests of his chair, turning him effortlessly to face her. Her eyes were gentle, yet that same sharpness lingered, hovering restlessly in her mouth and burning down into her fingers. Carlisle leaned forward to take her in his arms, but she withdrew out of reach.

"Cease these endless musings," she pleaded. (The way she pitched her voice, so childlike, assumed the nature of a plea.) "The humans, for all their shortcomings, can be clever. Leave them to discover the nature of their own bodies. The workings of the heart, the function of the stomach and the brain, the frantic emotions when they feel pain and joy… all of this _is immaterial to us,_ Carlisle. The last thing I want is to disregard your work, much less mock it. But, darling… my darling! Do not waste your fine mind on what _they_ will develop by themselves, decade by decade. Not when there is _so_ much else you could do!"

So much else? Carlisle was shocked by this soliloquy, gazing into her eyes and silently wondering if she spoke thus out of fear and obligation to the Volturi. "Diana… don't you want to know? Don't you _hunger_ to understand?" He leaned forward, grasping her hands in his eagerly. "Just _think_ of it! If I spent enough time on… on medicine… and the workings of the body therein… why, the floodgates could at last be opened! Raw, true knowledge, spilling into our hands, and with it, the ability to _heal._ Oh, my love, don't you see? We could at last rise above that which has tormented mankind since the dawn of time! Disease, pestilence, pain… all of this made lighter by the gift of medicine and learned men. Not the ***** leeches of now, but _true_ students of the Hippocratic oath. We could save so many. Fewer people would die in childbirth, infants and mothers alike. Men would live longer, be _healthier_ longer—"

Diana's fingers, freed from Carlisle's fervent grasp, swept up to his face, resting against his lips. He silenced, but his golden eyes glowed like one who has just seen the light of a celestial being.

"All right. Do as you will," she said softly. "But promise me something."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on hers.

"I want a child of my own, Carlisle. A _real_ child, of and by my own blood. Find a way, and I will live by your side for the rest of my days."

" _ **In your amber eyes, I see the questions never end**_

 _ **I never could disguise, so why pretend?"**_

 _ **(Emilie Autumn; "Faces Like Mine")**_

* * *

 **Poor Carlisle. He just can't get a break. Who does she think she is, anyway? -_- I would highly recommend listening to Emilie Autumn's music in this story, especially as regards Diana. Very dark yet beautiful tracks (e.g. "Opheliac," or "Willow").**

 ***leech - Doctors were once called "leeches" due to the barbaric practice of letting blood to try and heal the patient. I like to think that Carlisle scorned this idea from the beginning of his studies. Not to mention the high risk involved as a vampire, eh?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed and given this story a fav! I so appreciate it. ^^ I've decided to up the rating to an M, just in case. It may not warrant it, but I'd rather be more safe than sorry as this dark tale progresses.**

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

"Anything for you, _angela."_

Carlisle later looked back, and cursed the moment those words left his lips.

" _I want a child of my own, Carlisle."_

She was a fool. So was he, for acquiescing. A _child?_ What sort of child?

 _A real child, of and by my own blood. Find a way, and I will live by your side for the rest of my days…"_

The question had been abrupt. It hit him between the ribs with stunning force, leaving him speechless for a moment. At first, he ignored the shock. The pleading look in Diana's eyes, and the sweet longing in her voice was enough to melt his too-soft heart.

"Anything for you, _angela,"_ he heard himself say. He watched her face become luminous with joy, her eyes brilliant gems. She pressed him close in an embrace, which he lovingly returned.

"Thank you, Carlisle," she breathed rapidly. "Oh, _thank_ you!"

He patted the shining darkness of her head, resting his chin atop it briefly. It was then the reality of what she had asked began to truly sink in. Despair loomed on the fringe of his consciousness. This was impossible.

Did she believe he could achieve the impossible? Was she prepared for failure? Because if he was being truly honest with himself… failure was the only possible outcome for this future.

Diana left to feed, giving him a parting kiss. He could hear her dancing, happy steps down the corridor, echoing off the walls and within his own mind. He listened as more footsteps soon followed; the tramping, clumsy steps of humans as they were herded to their demise. Aro's merry voice burst out of nowhere, reaching him even from the throne room. Surely it wasn't that time already…

"My _dear,_ dear ones! So happy you could join us—"

 _No!_ Carlisle swore, racing from his chair to the window and flinging open the delicate panes. He stood swaying there for a moment, his blonde hair falling onto his forehead. His gaze took in the small city of Volterra, casting over the hills that stretched lazily until they hardened into a line of mountains that were the sweetest shades of blue and violet. Kissed silver by the moonlight, and lightly dusted with a rare autumn snow, it was a breathtaking view he had enjoyed many times.

A view soon to be broken by desperate screams.

He closed his eyes with a shudder, and jumped. And as he fell, he prayed.

 _Archangele… contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium._

The wind whistled sharply in his ears as he plummeted over fifty feet, landing catlike as his hands briefly grazed the ground. He must be quick. Aro no longer took so long on his preamble, thanks to Caius' insistence, and the vampires of Volterra were hungry tonight.

 _Archangele… contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur..._

He tore of his shoes and stockings, tearing the cravat from his throat and flinging off his jacket. He knew the fine materials would be ruined by the damp ground, but he did not care. As soon as these burdens were laid aside, he took off, flying over snowy turf as if chased by the very demons of Hell. As he ran, the wind whipped moisture from his cheeks. He was a coward. For by running, he was admitting, once again, that he could not save them. He could not capture them from the maws of Death, and if he even tried, he would only fall prey to the sin that crawled through every corridor and stone wall of the fortress. So he ran, rather than sully his conscience with their cries. The guilt pounded in his skull, causing the scant blood in his body to boil with rage and grief.

The herd of deer never saw him coming.

Standing from the carnage of crushed skulls and fragments of flesh mere moments later, Carlisle wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. He couldn't bear to think of the throne room now, the glee on Aro's face. So he thought of Diana.

" _A real child, of and by my own blood…"_

What a fool he was, to so hastily agree, and without any further knowledge of her wishes! He _knew_ her strange habits. It might be days before he saw her again, and she might visit only for the purpose of lovemaking. There were still so many thing he didn't know about her, though he had shared with her details of his previous life. He'd been able to brush it off before, when their moments had been innocent and sweet, but now… Who _was_ she? When he tentatively pressed her about her request, she had said she'd "take care" of the Masters, should they question his activities. He had no idea what this meant. These activities, he understood too well, would border dangerously close to that of an Immortal Child. So Diana's confidence worried him more than it comforted. He had seen what the Italian vampires could do, and feared even more what hadn't yet been revealed.

Carlisle held his head in his hands as he knelt in the grass, his body burning and head pounding, though he had consumed blood only moments before.

"Keep it together, old man," he whispered to himself, exhaling. "You will drive yourself mad. She _loves_ you. She would not put you in danger. Perhaps… Perhaps it is not so impossible."

Hours later, he made his way quietly back to the fortress, a determined expression blotting out the despair in his face. He crawled back into his rooms, heading straight to the underground baths, where he cleansed himself of dirt, blood, and anxiety.

His doctoral studies could wait.

* * *

He spent many hours studying, whether in his private study or in the castle's library, his careful fingers turning ancient pages of text as well as newer prints. Most of it seemed completely implausible, mere legend passed from one uneducated mouth to another. Immortal science was almost as scarce as that of humans… and Carlisle was young. So very, very young. What was almost half a lifetime in mortal years was almost nothing for one of his kind. He had struggled for years on his medical studies, only to be now presented with an even greater conundrum.

 _Could a vampire give birth?_

It sounded like madness even to think it. But he truly loved Diana, and would not desert her request so early. He studied harder, cutting down on feeding time to devote himself more fully. Aro was curious, he could tell, as to what preoccupied his elusive guest, but he had seemed to avoid Carlisle ever since their amorous confrontation months ago, and especially after introducing Carlisle to Rodolfo at the masque ball. So he let him be.

 _All the better,_ the doctor thought grimly, scratching away with his quill. _If he had the slightest knowledge of this, my head would be on this table amongst the books._

Finally, after all the time he'd spent poring over dusty volumes and ancient scrolls, he _finally_ came across something: the _dhampir,_ or _dhampyr._ Product of a sexual union between a vampire male and human female. Not exactly what Diana had been asking for (if he understood her correctly), but it was a start.

He made a soft sound of relief as he read, deep in the recesses of the library, surrounded by the strong, yet to him comforting scent of paper and ink. His fingers trembling with interest, he scanned the lines written on the scroll, his keen mind absorbing everything it could. They were not unlike the Immortal Children. He spread out the ink-stained scroll gentle, the folklore hailing from Eastern Europe. He had only a rudimentary understanding of Slavic languages, but did well enough. According to legend, these half-bloods were the product of men who had become vampires, and then returned by night to their wives or the women they had been attracted to in life to feed on them. _Dhampir_ children were born with wild dark hair, pointed ears, slanted almond eyes, and a deep mark on their back that resembled a tail. Their senses were also much stronger than a human's, though not as much as a vampires, and they could easily endure sunlight and human food, if needed.

"Dear God," Carlisle whispered, horrified at the image this engendered, yet morbidly fascinated. The text went on to describe how these children would often devour the mother upon birth before seeking out the father, but he snapped the scroll shut before reading any further.

"Dear God," he said again.

There was precious little else on the _dhampir,_ but it was the best find he'd had in weeks. He worked through the night and into the morning, adding a few more notes to his papers, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of nourishment and exercise. At about five in the morning, the door opened, revealing Diana.

"Hello, dearest," he said wearily, standing with a smile.

She didn't smile back.

Diana was changing, too. She entered his study almost anytime of day, now, never again complaining about the differing smells that had previously disgusted her. Her presence over his shoulder, at first a welcome distraction, soon proved to be a hindrance. He did not like the way she constantly watched him, nor the growing sharpness of her voice when she asked questions… many of which he had no answers for.

"Come," he said to her, standing. He hoped to cheer her; bring back that dancing light in her eyes. Perhaps she would even allow him to share a glass with her, provided she did not wrinkle her nose at his diet. "Let us leave this, for a moment."

"Leave it?" she echoed. "What have you found?"

"Yes." He stood, coming around the desk to stand behind her. His arms encircled her waspish waist. His lips nibbled up and down her white throat, coaxing her to give him the love he felt they both needed. She stood stiffly, and he noted her lack of response, increasing his attentions.

"Carlisle."

He ignored her, finding the tiny creases beneath her ear to be much more fascinating.

"Carlisle, there isn't time."

"There is always time, my darling." He spun her gently in his arms, bending low to capture her mouth with his. She turned away, and his lips missed their mark, brushing her cheek. He frowned, looking down at her. "Diana? What is wrong?"

She lifted her head with an effort, giving him a patient smile. "I am simply not in the mood, dearest. I would _really_ rather you finished your work."

"I cannot focus anymore. I need you."

He had grown increasingly less shy around her, and he hoped the forthright nature of his statement would arouse her passion. He was wrong.

Her delicate hands rose to his chest, pushing him back from her. _"Later,_ _cara mia."_

No man likes to be rejected. His ego wounded, the doctor frowned. "Diana, something is wrong. I can feel it."

" _Nothing_ is wrong. I am merely waiting for you to continue the experiment." Her eyes darted over his work, exposing a strange restlessness. "So what have you found?"

Carlisle sighed softly, raking a hand through his feathery blonde locks. "Diana… I am afraid there's no way for this child to be of _your_ blood. You are already a vampire. Your…" He tried to phrase it delicately. "Your womb is… not up to the task."

Her eyes hardened as she stared down at his notes, her mouth an ugly, jagged line.  
"However…"

She looked up at him.

"There are legends of unions between vampires and humans. Both sexual as well as emotional. It seems that it only works with a vampire male and a human female, and even then… the likelihood is extremely rare." He indicated his notes.

"But it _is_ possible."

He sighed again. "According to the scraps of research we possess and a handful of peasant legends—"

"When shall we begin?" Her eyes had brightened, hard rubies catching the light.

"Begin…?"

" _Testing it out,_ innocent." She giggled. "I'll have Heidi arrange for females to be brought in at once."

Carlisle's mouth gaped open. "I…" He began weakly.

"Don't be foolish, Carlisle. You cannot do _everything_ on paper. It is not scientific."

"I know that."

"I _know_ you know, but you are also stalling." She walked past his desk, her ample skirts rustling. "If you will not bring in a human subject, then _I_ will."

Carlisle stood dumbfounded at her words, his thoughts tangling together. He took a step towards her, then paused. "Diana, you know my feelings on these type of experiments. Why do you think I have always used animals?"

"This has nothing to do with _ANIMALS!"_ she snapped. She whirled to face him, her teeth bared and her hands trembling with sudden rage. "This is a _child_ we are speaking of! _My_ child! And you promised you would _help_ me!"

Silence filled the room. Dark shadows sprung up from the sputtering candles on his desk, flinging cautious shapes onto the walls and velvet drapery. Carlisle stood still by his desk, his expression both bruised and lost. "Diana," he whispered.

Her black eyes met his for a moment longer, then tore away, looking into the empty fireplace at the far end of the room.

"I promised I would help you," he continued, treading carefully. "But in turn, you have to help _me,_ as well. What you ask… well, it may not be…"

"Possible," she finished dully. Her thin shoulders rose, then sank back down slowly, as if the movement hurt her. "Perhaps it _is_ hopeless," she said at last. "Perhaps… I should just light that fireplace. Fling myself into the flames."

"Diana!" Carlisle cried, his voice choked.

She looked up at him, then sighed. "Oh, Carlisle. I am sorry. That was… very wrong of me."

"Do not speak so lightly of your death," he pleaded. "I love you."

"And I love you, _angelo._ Most dearly. But I want…" She drew in a sharp breath, closing her eyes briefly. "I _need_ this child. You don't know what I've done to… Don't you _see_ it, Carlisle? The little family we could have…"

"A lovely vision, indeed," he said gravely. "But I cannot succumb to a dream that comes at the cost of another's life."

She watched him silently, her expressions flitting back and forth so rapidly that he could not follow them. He lowered his voice, trying to be gentle. "I am still fairly new to this world, yet I strive to remember its rules." He leaned his forehead into his palms. "The Immortal Children are forbidden, Diana. I don't think you realize how close we may come to crossing that line, should we continue. "

"We do not have to—"

"You have not even _specified!_ " he exclaimed, cutting her reply short. "For mercy's sake, is the child to be human or is it immortal? A hybrid has never been known in this world… unless you yourself have such knowledge?"

He looked pointedly at her, waiting. She stood perfectly still, her body resembling a Grecian statue of Aphrodite he had once seen in Athens. Her beautiful features were dazed, helpless... As if he had pushed her to the edge of a cliff and then told her she had to jump.

"I… I hardly know what to say," she whispered. She closed her eyes. "I thought you were going to help me. You are my last hope."

Many questions arose from her words, but he dismissed them for now, walking to her and pulling her precious body close. _"Angela mia…_ I would give my _life_ to help you. But you must be patient with me. Will you do that?"

She nodded, still with that faraway expression.

He pressed warm lips to her forehead. "Ask Heidi if she will send a female to my study next week, and we shall go from there."

Diana's eyes shot up to his, her lips trembling. "Oh, Carlisle. You have no idea how much this means—"

He touched her lips, silencing her tenderly. _"Slowly,_ my darling. We are on dangerous ground. Do you think Aro knows what we are doing?"

"I will take care of the Masters."

He stared at her, surprised again at her surety, then bent low, capturing a much-needed kiss. She returned it with all the fervor he had missed, her jeweled arms snaking around his neck. They soon found themselves in a rather compromising position, the rug on the floor torn to shreds by their activities, and the doctor's body pinned underneath by that of his puzzling lover.

Carlisle's brain was in a fog. Had he made the right decision? Had she? What if—he groaned as Diana's nails raked up his sides—what if they were caught? What would Aro say… if he even _said_ anything at all? It was not like he had created tiny vampire spawn running up and down the hallways, causing havoc, but the future… ah, the future was so uncertain.

It was a very dangerous situation, indeed.

" _ **Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored."**_

 _ **(Aldous Huxley)**_

* * *

 ** _Archangele… contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium. -_ [Saint Michael] the Archangel... Be our protection against the malice and snares of the devil.**

 _ **Imperet illi Deus, supplices deprecamur -**_ **May God rebuke him we humbly pray...**


End file.
